paper things by jennifer richard jacobson chapter sampler

8/10/2019 Paper Things by Jennifer Richard Jacobson Chapter Sampler

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J E N N I F E R R I C H A R D J A C O B S O N

PA P E R T H I N G S


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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either

products of the authors imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

Copyright 2015 by Jennifer Richard Jacobson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an

information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical,

including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

First edition 2015

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending

ISBN 978-0-7636-6323-0

14 15 16 17 18 19 TK 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in TK, TK, U.S.A.

This book was typeset in Adobe Caslon.

Candlewick Press

99 Dover Street

Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

visit us at www.candlewick.com


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1

S C O R E C A R D S

I sit up taller in my wobbly desk chair and try to tune

back in to Mr. O. talking about supply and demand.

At least, thats what he was talking about five

minutes ago, before my mind drifted back, once

again, to the night we left Jannas.

Janna, our guardian had been on the phone with

someone, tidying up the living room as she talked.

My daughter has always excelled, shed said.Gage had been passing through the kitchen,

searching for his phone charger. Id looked up from

the breakfast bar, where I was studying the Pottery

Barn catalog, to see if hed heard Janna. Sure enough,

I saw him give a little shake of his head.


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Hed turned to me, but Id quickly looked down,

as if the decorative pillows needed my full attention.

I didnt know if he was mad that Janna was bragging

on me, that she had called me her daughter, or

that she was pretending that nothing was wrong

(probably all three), but my feelings were too much

of a mishmash to give him the conspiratorial smile

he was expecting.

When Janna hung up, Gage asked, loudly

enough for her to hear, Are you packed?

Id nodded, this time not daring to look at Janna.

I hadnt packed much: my school uniforms, socks

and underwear, a couple of weekend outfits, paja-

mas, a picture of our mother when she was a girl,

and my Paper Things. The shoe box I kept my Paper

Things in wouldnt fit in my duffel, so Id carefully

placed them in a double-pocket folder that I found

in Jannas desk. Gage said I should pack only theessentials that wed come back for the rest later.

But Id overheard Janna tell Gage that the rest

were things that she had purchased and therefore

belonged to her.

Is there laundry in your apartment building?


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Janna asked Gage. Are you going to make sure that

Ari has clean clothes for school?

I kept my head down but sat perfectly still. Id

asked lots of my own questions about our new apart-

ment, but so far my brother had been vague with his

answers. Mostly hed said, Wait till you see, Ari!

Youll be able to decorate realrooms in our place.

Who do you think did her laundry before we

came here? he said, and then bolted upstairs to his

room before Janna could say anything more.

I should call Legal Services, she said, more to

the air than to me. I dont care that hes your brother.

I dont care that hes nineteen. Im sure they would

agree that you should stay put. She paced, but she

didnt call. Gage said that she couldnt call, because if

the truth came out about how shed treated him and

how she was trying to keep us apart, shed lose any

chance she had of ever getting me back. Not thathe planned on giving me back, hed been quick to

reassure me.

By the time Gage had returned downstairs

with my duffel bag and his backpack in tow Id

finished with the Pottery Barn catalog and stood by


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the sink, as if waiting for a bus. As soon as Gage was

within earshot, Janna turned to me and said, Who

doyouwant to live with, Ari?

Id been dreading that moment. For days the two

of them had been battling, fighting to claim me, like

I was a goldfish and not an eleven-year-old person

who has her very own feelings.

But I was ready for it. Id been practicing my

answer: I wish

Dont do that to her! Gage shouted, getting up

in Jannas face. Dont put her on the spot like that.

You know she doesnt want to hurt you. But Im her

family! Not you. Me!

Your mother wouldnt want Janna started.

Our mother said to stay together, Gage

shouted. Always! Stay together always! Those were

her exact words.

Janna had folded her arms and pursed her lips.It was a look that Gage often imitated to make fun

of her though I could tell that he was way beyond

being amused at this point.

Be reasonable, Gage. Youre young. Youve got

things you want to do. Dreams for yourself. Do you


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really think you can do all of that while taking care

of Ari?

Once again, they were back to discussing me like

I wasnt even there.

What do you know about my dreams? Gage

yelled. All youve ever cared about is Ari. And trying

to make her love you. But guess what? She doesnt

love you. She loves me. Herfamily.

Janna flinched as if hed hit her.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no

words escaped.

Come on, Ari, Gage had said. Time to go.

I begged Janna without saying a word: Please,

Janna, tell Gage youre sorry. Ask him to stay.

Janna just stared at me, long and hard, like she

was waiting for me to say my thoughts aloud. But

I didnt I couldnt and eventually she went back

to tidying the living room. Ill see you soon, Ari,she said in her friendly voice. Like I was that run-

away badger, Frances, who was going no farther than

beneath the dining-room table.

I wanted to press a rewind button, but I wasnt

sure how far Id have to go back.


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Bye, Janna, I said as we walked out the door.

I wanted to add Thanks for being our guardian or

even Love you, but I knew both of those things

would upset Gage.

Im pretty sure Janna didnt answer me.

Two blocks away from Jannas house, Gage

cleared his throat. Listen, Ari, theres something I

need to tell you.

Thats when I learned that Gage had lied.

We didnt have an apartment. Not yet.

We didnt have a home of any kind.

That was the beginning of February. This is

almost the end of March. We still dont.

I look over at Sashas desk something I do about

fifty times a day but shes not in her seat. My best

friend is, at this very moment, down on Walnut

Street, acting as one of the safety patrol leaders.Shes shy, but I know shes doing a good job. Shell

smile at the kindergarteners who got overly attached

to the previous group of patrollers, and she wont

try to boss the second-graders who mouth back if


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congratulating me on my school successes, this prin-

cipal slinks from room to room like hes trying to

catch someone in the act of wrongdoing. And sure

enough, he has.

We are all frozen in position, staring at Mr.

Chandler.

Daniel, a kid in my gifted class, gives my chair a

subtle kick.

I turn back to Mr. O., who, despite the interrup-

tion, has kept his eyes glued on me.

Sorry, Mr. ONeil, I say.

I look down at the graffiti carved into my desk

(not by me), hoping Mr. O. wont force me to explain

what made me laugh.

He doesnt. Instead, he gives Mr. Chandler a

little collaborative nod, which seems to satisfy the

principal. The principal leaves, and Mr. O. continues.

It seems to me, Arianna, that you dont havemuch room for fooling around.

I nod vigorously.

Its true; my social studies grade is the pits. I

did lousy on both quizzes, and I havent been able

to finish the outline of my biography (along with


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a bibliography) on a famous nineteenth-century

American. Id promised it to Mr. O. today, but

we had to meet up with West last night, so it was

impossible for me to stop by the library to do my

research. Without West, one of the social workers

at Lighthouse, we cant sneak in, and Lighthouse

is the only shelter Gage will stay at. I think were

at Chloes tonight. That will make Gage trs, trs

happy. (See, Mademoiselle Barbary, I am using my

French!) It will make me happy, too. And maybe Ill

even be able to get caught up on my homework.

I force myself to pay attention to listen to

Mr. O. talking about the poor imaginary bookseller

who has bought a ton of books, but now nobody

wants them.

I wish I hadnt laughed in Mr. O.s class, I wish I

hadnt been caught by Mr. Chandler, I wish I could

be seen as shiny once again.


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2

M A N U A L S

Sasha is waiting for me on the corner of Walnut and

Washington, still wearing her patrol leader vest over

her red puffy coat. Today, her so-blond-its-nearly-

white hair is pulled back in a bun, like she has a

ballet recital or something. All day, girls have been

saying, I like your hair, Sasha. No one has compli-

mented me on my hair in weeks. Janna was the onewho could do the French braids and cool updos, not

me. And definitely not Gage.

Patrolling is so much fun, Ari! Shes bounc-

ing up and down like Leroy, the little terrier we had

when Mama was still alive four years ago now. I


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can remember Leroys funny little face more than I

can Mamas, which makes me feel terrible. Gage says

that I shouldnt feel bad, that memories are strange

that way . . . and besides, most people remember

from pictures. We dont have many.

Were you on walker patrol or bus stop? I ask

Sasha.

Walker!

Wow! Really? I was expecting Sasha to say bus

stop. On bus stop patrol, you tell each line when it

can board and help the little ones climb the steps.

But on walker patrol, you have to gauge traffic and

direct kids to cross at the precise moment.

Did you have to determine the safe gap? I ask.

The safe gap is the time it takes for a car to get from

the intersection to the crosswalk.

Yup. But there are lots of other responsibilities,

too, she says. Like reminding bike riders to walktheir bikes across the street.

I nod, but I also keep my eyes peeled to the side-

walk for pennies. People dont bother to stoop down

and pick up the pennies they drop. Youd be sur-

prised how a few pennies can start to add up.


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3

C ATALOGS

As soon as I go through the door of Head Start,

Omar looks up. He leaves his spot at the water table

and barrels into me the way little kids do, wrapping

his arms around my legs, the water from his hands

seeping into the back of my pants. The happy sound

he makes is a cross between a fire truck siren and

a guinea pig squeal. Other kids leave the centers

where theyve been playing and come trap me ina kid cocoon. None of them worships me quite as

much as Omar does, but they all love to greet me in

the same way.

Carol is on the other side of the room, pouring

milk into little metal pitchers for snack time. So


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glad youre here! she calls, like she always does. I

look around the room for Fran, but I dont see her.

Omar, who misses nothing, points to the drama

center, the area underneath the loft. Today its been

set up to look like a grocery store. There are shelves

with empty food boxes, a bin with plastic vegetables,

and a toy cash register. Fran, who is so small she

sometimes looks like shes one of the helpers, has a

basket on her arm and is pretending to buy grocer-

ies. She says the word potatoover and over: Look,

here is a potato! I like potatoes. I cant wait to get

home and cook this potato. You can make French

fries with potatoes. A lot of the kids in this class

dont speak English, and thats Frans way of helping

them learn new words. All the teachers are big on

repetition.

Buy the po-po-tato! says Marissa as she stands

in front of the cash register, making it ring.Ari, says Juju, a serious three-year-old who

always wears party dresses and talks in whispers,

go look in your cubby. Some of the kids return to

what they were doing, but a small group pull on my

fingers, leading me to my cubby, a painted wooden


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cube just like theirs. I know what Ill find, but Im as

excited as they are.

A small pile of catalogs greets me. Count them!

the kids shout. They count to four with me, and

then, for fun, we count them all over again.

Four catalogs! Two of them are for womens

clothing, but there is the newest Pottery Barn, which

will have pictures of furniture, and best of all, a Mini

Boden catalog. In Mini Boden, all of the models are

kids. I smile a thank-you at Carol.

Is there a dog? asks Omar, who, unlike the rest

of the preschoolers, hasnt run over to get his carrots

and graham crackers. We take a quick peek inside

one of the catalogs, and sure enough, there is a dog. I

think it might be a beagle. Six dogs! he shouts.

I place the catalogs on the cutting table and sit

with the kids at Omars table to have my snack. Carol

has slipped me a peanut-butter graham-crackersandwich. (The little kids arent allowed to have pea-

nut butter because of worries about nut allergies, but

luckily they dont seem to notice that my snack is

different.) As I take a carrot from the plate in the


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center of the table, I wonder if its time to add a new

paper family to the one Ive already cut out.

I started my first paper family when Mama got

sick. She spent a lot of time in bed, with books, mag-

azines, and catalogs lying all around her. Sometimes

shed read to me, but when she got tired, shed close

her eyes and Id look at the catalogs. At first I was

just looking at the clothing, thinking, Wow, wish I

could buy striped puddle boots or a princess dress. But

eventually I realized that the clothes were laid out

like paper doll clothes. Thats how Sasha and I got

the idea of cutting the people out and making paper

families. (Back then, Sasha had been my downstairs

neighbor, and we spent a lot of time at each others

apartment.)

In the beginning, there were just three people in

my paper family just like in my real family: Mama,

Gage, and me. I started with the kids. You wouldthink that finding pictures of kids to cut out would

be easy, that Id have a gazillion choices, but its not

true. Catalogs usually show only part of the model;

most of the time their arms or legs have been cut off


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in the layout. In the first catalog I checked, which

was an L.L. Bean kids catalog, I could find only

one decent picture of a boy. He looked like he was

around seven, and he was crouched, playing with

a lawn sprinkler. But he would do. I cut him out

and named him Miles. In that same catalog was a

toddler girl with dark hair and warm brown skin. She

had on a yellow dress with leggings and was cup-

ping a toad in her hands. Best of all, she was smaller

than Miles which was good, since I wanted her to

be the younger sister. I cut her out and named her

Natalie. Finding their mom was much easier. Most

of Mamas catalogs were filled with women. I just

had to find a mom that was about the right size: one

who didnt fill up a catalog page and wasnt tucked

in a tiny box in the corner, one who was the right

proportion for my family. Luckily I found one who

looked as fun-loving as my mom before she gotsick, of course.

While Sasha was choosing the people for her

paper family, I decided to cut out furniture for mine.

First I cut out a bed that was shaped like a boxy car

for Miles. Then I found a white-lace canopy bed for


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Natalie. Later that day, Sasha went home and cut out

furniture from her moms catalogs. Before you knew

it, we were creating whole rooms and outdoor patios

and even parks with swings and slides and monkey

bars. (The Home Depot advertisements that come

in the mail have the greatest play gyms.)

My apartment was best for playing Paper Things.

Since Mama spent so much time in bed, we would

spread our paper worlds out across the floor of the

living room. I showed Sasha that if you set up near

a couch or chair, you could create an upstairs in your

home. Sometimes Gage would complain that he was

tired of stepping around scraps of paper everywhere,

but mostly he just let us be. He was fourteen and

we were seven, so he was probably glad we werent

bugging him.

I shake my head and focus on the four cata-

logs in front of me now. I tear out the pages that Idont want and set them aside for the kids to cut up.

After snack is skills time at Head Start, and one of

the skills the older kids learn is cutting with scissors.

When I told Carol about Paper Things, she asked if

I would be the helper at the cutting station. At first


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What should we call this dog? I ask Omar.

He stops his own cutting (ripping is more like it)

and looks thoughtful. Lets call him

Claire sneezes.

Gesundheit,says Fran.

Omars eyes light up. Lets call him Sneeze.


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Paper ThingsJennifer Richard Jacobson

www.candlewick.com
http://www.candlewick.com/http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/paper-things-jennifer-richard-jacobson/1119987275?ean=9780763663230http://www.amazon.com/Paper-Things-Jennifer-Richard-Jacobson/dp/0763663239/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409254516&sr=8-1&keywords=9780763663230http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780763663230http://www.candlewick.com/

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